


The Practice Doesn't Change, Just the Perspective

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-23
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: Though, over time, Merlin had come to really enjoy working with Arthur, there were still jobs that he hated.  Like carrying Arthur's food from the kitchen to his chambers, smelling it the whole way, and knowing he couldn't eat any of it.  Or mucking the stables; there was not much pleasantness inherent in the finding and removing of horse shit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 9/23/09. I don't think this was posted anywhere? It's a strange fic.

Though, over time, Merlin had come to really enjoy working with Arthur, there were still jobs that he hated. Like carrying Arthur's food from the kitchen to his chambers, smelling it the whole way, and knowing he couldn't eat any of it. Or mucking the stables; there was not much pleasantness inherent in the finding and removing of horse shit.

Other tasks, Merlin had strangely realized he enjoyed. The odd job of brushing down Arthur's hunting jacket, as it rarely got _filthy_ , but was almost always wild, was a soothing one, and lighting lamps once it got dark was methodical and good for thinking about the day. Merlin's strangest find, really, was that of cleaning Arthur's tack after he'd been out for a ride, or a hunt, or whatever else prince's do on their horses to make their saddles dirty and their horses covered in sweat.

While parts of the task were easily assessed as "disgusting," other parts made up for them. The initial wipe-down of the horse was sort of foamy and gross, but slowly washing and polishing the tack was easy, rhythmic, and soothing. By the time the tack had been cleaned and hung up, the horse had calmed a bit, and Merlin could set to brushing it and making it look like the presentable thing Arthur had bought it to be. 

He'd had a weird conversation with Arthur about it, once, that went something like,

"You know, Merlin, that even I need practice in taking care of my tack, as its idiotic to think that I can bring along and feed a manservant on any sort of real war ride," Arthur had said over whatever fowl he was eating one night.

Merlin had shrugged and replied, "It's not like the practice of it really changes over time; they're not going to reinvent the saddle or anything. I don't mind it. And eat your vegetables, Arthur, you're an adult."

Arthur had been too busy avoiding his vegetables and berating Merlin for speaking to him casually to continue the line of discussion, and Merlin had considered it some sort of bizarre offer for help. Or a sign that Arthur, too, found the act calming and pleasant.

Really, a large part of what Merlin enjoyed was spending time alone with the horses. Horses were strange, still creatures, while Merlin was dressing them down, but they were also soft, warm, and somehow calming just by being there. Merlin had a tendency to, whenever he had completed the actual dressing down, walking around the small stable and petting each of the horses. Arthur rarely had use for any horse more than once a week, and Merlin figured that had to be a pretty boring life. Plus, what were the chances he was ever going to own his own horse? Might as well make friends with Arthur's.

Merlin was standing in the stall of the bay that Arthur had taken on a hunt that day, feeding it an apple and rubbing its nose after having finished dressing it down, when Arthur walked into the stable. Running through a quick list in his head, Merlin knew that there wasn't really anything else he needed to be doing at that moment, and he hadn't gone over the amount of time that it usually took him to completely this chose, so he was a little puzzled as to why Arthur was there.

"Do you need something?" Merlin asked, politely if a bit casually, as the horse lipped the rest of the apple in his palm and he ran a hand over the smooth, whiskery nose.

Raising an eyebrow at Merlin's casual speech, Arthur replied, "Not until dinner. I was wondering what was taking you so long, when I merely rode to the edge of the forest, hitched, and then went on foot the rest of the hunt." He crossed his arms. "That, or I was giving you too much credit for speed, and thought that the light on in the stable meant someone was trying to steal my horses."

"No," Merlin said, patting the horse's neck as he edged out of the stall, then latched the door. "And I just finished."

"I see," said Arthur. "Do you know if the stable boys have fed the horses yet?"

A bit confused, Merlin answered, "No, I don't think they have," and added silently to himself, _because they usually do that after your own dinner time, Arthur, since you're known to take them out at bizarre times before then_. 

"Well," Arthur replied, then, as if this statement was in fact all the reply that was needed, moved toward the bins of grain at one end of the stable. Merlin stared a bit, confused, before he realized that if he helped Arthur, it made this situation at least a little bit less insane. But only a very little.

Merlin watched the manner in which Arthur fed his horses, then moved to mimic it, which was how he'd learned anything at all about this manservant thing, having never received the customary training. Considering that, Merlin didn't think he was doing too shabby of a job. Arthur only gave Merlin a short, strange look when he began helping, which Merlin chose to disregard for the sake of his sanity, and they worked for the most part in silence, a soft whicker accenting the evening's natural noise every so often.

As he fed each horse, Arthur lingered for a moment, running a hand over necks and flanks, as though assessing. When they had finished, Arthur patted his hands together to remove the greater part of oat residue and general stable dust. He turned to Merlin and said, more to a friend than a servant, "How about that dinner?"

"Right away," Merlin said, smiling at little in response to Arthur's comfortably pleasant expression. He turned another direction than Arthur once they reached the castle, but, for once, was in a good enough mood that fetching Arthur's dinner didn't make him immediately sour. He'd been right: Arthur found the task as comforting as Merlin did. That fact made Merlin feel oddly pleased with himself; the longer he worked with Arthur, the less he saw the distance between them become.


End file.
